


control is release

by robiland



Category: Kill la Kill
Genre: Masturbation, mentions of molestation, pre-episode 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robiland/pseuds/robiland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>on the eve of the unraveling of kiryuin satsuki's meticulous plan, she finds herself with something abstract on her mind, but not something she'd ever forgotten: the reclamation of her body from her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	control is release

Any disposable underling that might have hindered her plans was discarded accordingly, along with the final preparations taken care of with flawless execution. Anything less would be shameful to someone of such excellence as Satsuki Kiryuin. That isn't to say there isn't an air of tension within her at the whole affair; years of meticulous planning would lead up to a grand unraveling, and the prospect of a hitch in her plans is unnerving. It's no small task, but there isn't any reason why her resolve should fail now, in the crucial moments before she would overthrow Life Fibers and murder her mother, Ragyo Kiryuin. 

The thought in itself is heavy. Her sigh as she enters her quarters attests to this, and she leans against the closed door. Her eyes scan the room; as long as it had been since she was home, she remembers the indigo walls, the lush carpet, and the princess canopy all too well. This room - her room - housed the vivid dreams of her impending greatness, the foundation on which her fearless empire would be built. It housed other things, too. Darker things that, years later, still send a shiver up her spine and make her curl up into herself. 

She can still remember Ragyo's ghastly fingers, made weary from old smoking habits and the burden of success, tilting Satsuki's chin to look up at her as she assured her that it was just between them. She remembers how her mother's silk robe felt and looked as it brushed her calf on its way to the carpet, and how chilling it was to meet Ragyo's penetrating stare. Her fingertips were cold. That stare of hers that made Satsuki feel almost transparent. 

Satsuki shakes her head, starting across the room, stepping hard in hopes that the sound of her footfalls would replace the memory. She sets her bakuzan aside, leaning it against the wall in favour of placing her hands on the vanity to study her youthful visage. Youthful as it is, a frown - perpetual in its nature, as Ryuko noted during Satsuki departure from Osaka - had creased her features for as long as she could remember. Anything else seems to be so contradictory that it makes her uncomfortable. After all, she hasn't had much to smile about in a while, and that is perfectly fine with her. 

She begins undressing herself, entrusting Junketsu to the dresser for the night. In the process, she steals glances at her reflection. She has scars from her last battle littered scarcely on her legs, but her otherwise pale skin hasn't changed much from when she first donned the Kamui. Aside from the occasional blemish in her preteen years and a fuller, curvier shape, she hasn't changed very much at all from the last time she studied herself this way. On her own, at least; it's easier to do without Ragyo commenting on how much her daughter has blossomed as she spied her daughter from the edge of the bed with a gaze that was anything but motherly. It foreshadowed how she would soon touch Satsuki. She still wishes she hadn't been so blind - so cowardly. 

She plants her hands on either side of Junketsu and squeezes her eyes shut, closing them tight. The harder her brow creases, the more her mother's silhouette and the ghosts of her fingers along Satsuki's skin disappear from her memory. Her eyes open only to stare hard at herself, almost in competition with her reflection's intense stare. Her final move in the game she'd been playing for years since she was five would draw to a close in a mere matter of hours. The game that entailed her shoving aside her true intentions - her true self, she might even say. She'd become Ragyo's puppet, her plaything. Well, all that was to cease soon enough. Satsuki would reclaim her identity, and, tonight, she would start with her body. 

Straightening her form, she raises her chin, stepping backward until everything from her mid-thighs and up is visible in the mirror. She takes to studying herself again - she takes in her ample bust, how it curves into a slim waist that is only interrupted by the slight jutting out of her ribs and hip bones beneath her fair skin, and the small space between her thighs. She notes how it feels to relax the tension in her shoulders and the pleasant pull it brings to her slender neck. Her hands brush against her hips as she does this, making contact with the white cotton underwear she's wearing, and she becomes vividly aware of the articles of clothing that still hide her skin. 

Almost as if she's operating on autopilot, she raises her hands and pushes her panties down past her hips, letting them fall around her ankles, not stepping out of them until she glances at her center. Almost. Next, her hands raise to work at the clasp at the front of her bra. She does this slowly in anticipation of her nakedness, wanting to relish every second of the physical and mental liberty she experiences. She lets this fall to the floor as well, and the reaction is almost instantaneous in the way her nipples harden upon being freed. Watching this happen, she feels the urge to touch. Before, it was always just a thought in passing - touching them - but the urge floods the forefront of her mind tonight. She wills it so. 

She's fascinated by how intensely she reacts to simply tweaking one with her fingertips; she gasps and feels a pulse between her thighs. She feels strangely exposed in a way that she never had, but she keeps her eyes level, on herself. She uses her other hand, pushing the newfound sensation and pinching at the peaks at the same time. A moan builds up at the back of her throat, escaping as a hiss. She flattens her hands against her breasts, encasing them in her hands with a swift closing of her fingers. She closes her eyes. 

_How does Junketsu feel on you?_

She opens her eyes. 

She takes a moment to steady herself, to remind herself to whom these breasts, these legs, this body belongs. It was never Junketsu's. It was never Ragyo's. Never, not once, did it belong to anyone but Satsuki. No one can take that from her. 

Her hands slide down her body, crossing over each other on her stomach and back again. She watches this, making steady connections with her movements and the image before her. She notes how smooth her skin is and how it stretches to accommodate every hardened muscle and bone beneath it, both of which are wearied by several of her personal battles. Light stretch marks rest on her hips, and she runs her fingertips over them on her way to her thighs. They’re slightly muscular, much more than any other part of her body, due to all her extensive training in Junketsu. Perhaps some of it could be attributed to all those times she pressed them together, telling her mother "no". God knows how many times she'd done it. 

_Get a grip, Kiryuin. You're making this exponentially more complicated than it was meant to be._ Her mental scolding leads her to steady herself again. It doesn't take as long this time. One hand returns to her breast, resting there as the other tests the softness of her inner thigh. There's a warmth there that makes her eyes follow in the reflection as her fingertips go to explore it. Yes. This is how she would start. She owed it to herself, what with years of her life taken from her with little room to understand what she could do to herself. How she could make herself feel with just simple strokes. 

Even so - and she pauses to think about this - she's still unsure of... the mechanics of it. The method that one used in order to carry out the masturbation process. She'd learned about all the technicalities in school when she was younger, that it was how people explored themselves in their various stages of development and when they found themselves in need of gratification. Gratification that Satsuki had never sought out because, well, its basis was never there. She hadn't given any thought to how she might pursue someone sexually; it had never struck her as necessary, and that's what makes this more difficult. She grimaces as she remembers how she was taught. How she watched Ragyo demonstrate on herself, on Satsuki in the bathhouse just that evening. She wishes she could have shut her mouth. She wishes she hadn't moaned her approval when it was wrong, it was wrong and she gave into the same bullshit she had for years. There's no way in hell she'll allow herself to slip so tremendously again. 

Satsuki's fingers slide over her center. They press against her and delve between the lips, met by unexpected friction that makes her wince and instinctively look down. She knew something was missing. She doesn't waste a second of her time attempting to think of ways to remedy this, raising her fingers to her mouth to briefly run her tongue and lips over them before placing them on her clitoris once more. She's caught off guard by the sudden sensation, combined with the slight taste of salt on her tongue. There isn't any one word to describe how it feels to rub her fingers against herself, but it only takes a few seconds of it - of this something - that makes her slowly lean forward to steady herself on the dresser, planting her free hand beside Junketsu. She inches her legs apart, allowing her fingers more room to roam between her thighs. And it proves to be a good idea; they slide and tease the very tip of her clitoris, eliciting a gasp from her lips and a twisting feeling in her gut that seems to fizzle out and disappear before she can describe it. It leaves her body with an unspoken request for more. She imagines that this is similar to how a Kamui would thirst for the blood of its wearer, and in the same way she would not deprive Junketsu of the blood it needed if it so suited her goals, she would not deprive herself of this, no matter how primal she believes this action to be. 

Settling for a steady back and forth, Satsuki begins to rock against her fingers with slight, subtle rolls of her hips. Her lips part slowly. She's unexpectedly sensitive, but she wants to savour this something, ride it out until her mind goes blank at the release. She wants so badly to feel nothing and everything, all at once, and this makes the slickness between her thighs increase. Her determination is what guides her fingertips to focus on that sweet spot near her front again, servicing it with slow rubs and taps. 

"Hmm..." 

The president's nails graze the dresser and she swallows thickly. The sensation returns, building up deep inside her like a fire in its first moments after being ignited. This is not unlike what she'll soon achieve; she wants this to consume her, engulf her entire being, as if she'd been possessed by something almost otherworldly. Clearing her mind, she takes to focusing solely on her movements and sticking with them. The fluidity of the movements of her fingers comes naturally to her, like many things before had. Namely, it reminds her of the ease with which she first piloted Junketsu. How the force of her blade sliced through the very air, leaving rubble in its wake. She remembers flexing her hand, noting aloud its remarkable feats - her remarkable feats with it, joined with Junketsu as one unimpeachable entity of strength and power... 

Her legs quake, not as slightly as when she first settled into her rhythm. With it, another bout of the indescribable heat panging deep inside her arrives. Daring to indulge herself more than she already has, Satsuki's fingertips reach, meeting a sudden wetness that wasn't there before. It only further prompts her to ride her fingers, spreading the moisture with every roll of her broad hips. She captures her bottom lip between her teeth, attempting to bite back her guttural moan at the spike in pleasure to no avail. Her mind returns to Junketsu, when she first donned the garment. She vividly remembers how it consumed her, her entire being, both body and soul. How she held her breath, doubling over to declare her dominance over it. How she screamed when she claimed it as her own, almost as confirmation of one move of many that would propel her towards her goal. With that scream came an indescribable release... 

Release. Satsuki's body tenses at an alarming rate, her heart pounding in perfect sync with the steady taps with which she services herself. Her attempts to silence her noises are many as her ragged breaths become soft whines. Her brow twitches, her eyes close. She's managed to do this to herself to soon, to bring herself to the brink of orgasm. Moisture gushes between her fingers, becoming audible as she flexes her hand faster. The arm on which she steadies herself trembles as she lets out a growl in response to the tightening coils somewhere deep in her gut. She begins to grind harder and faster, almost embarrassingly so, becoming hyperaware of every sensation that graces her system and every image that flashes across her mind in those few suspenseful seconds. Crashing through buildings with ease and without a scratch, how her heart raced every time she was consumed by the Kamui, how her scorching blood pumped through her system when the intent to kill took over-- 

And she's coming, she's there, she's shaking and moaning, she doesn't remember when she'd dropped to support herself on her forearm - she doesn't care - and her mind is blank as something white hot and ineffable brings itself upon her with every snapping coil and every flex of her hips and fingers, she's scrambling to ride it out, she feels weak and awake and incredible and the tension is gone but it fills her with the need to cry out and... 

It feels like there are dull pins pricking her insides and outsides as she treats herself to a few final strokes. She can feel herself tightening with the desire to be filled, despite having been pleased already, and she inserts a curious finger inside herself. She hums, almost a sigh of confirmation. Invigorated. Renewed, if anything. How else she can describe this state, she isn't sure. The one thing of which she's sure though: her fingers are pruny.

In spite of herself, she lets out a laugh, almost incredulous in its nature. It feels almost desperate, how this is what she'd chosen to do in what could have been her last night in existence. Even so, she can't help but feel as if she'd somewhat earned this. She'd spent several years of her life practicing concealment, preservation, and to think that all it took was something so primitive to make up for just a fraction of it...

It was like she always said:

Control is release.

**Author's Note:**

> my first kill la kill fic and it's satsuki masturbating. outstanding  
> tumblr user rachel lithroymir came up with the title and i actually used it. also outstanding because it's tacky as hell


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